


And The Wardrobe Malfunction

by lightsaroundyourvanity



Category: 2 Broke Girls
Genre: F/F, Public Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-06
Updated: 2014-01-06
Packaged: 2018-01-07 18:30:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,705
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1122996
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lightsaroundyourvanity/pseuds/lightsaroundyourvanity
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Max has some very creative ways to get out of trouble.</p>
            </blockquote>





	And The Wardrobe Malfunction

Caroline has been “shopping” at Barneys, blowing a wad of cash on a dress, and returning it days later with the tags on, for _months_ now, but until today, she’d never been able to wheedle Max into coming along for the ride. 

“If I’m going to be putting my money on the line like that, there better be liquor and a Korean pop singer dressed like Elvis telling me to put it all on black,” Max had told her with a smirk, before adding, “That’s also my idea of a perfect third date, FYI.” 

And Caroline had rolled her eyes and put the argument away for another day.

But then they’d been nominated for “best midnight snack” for their buttered toast cupcake in the Brooklyn Blog Foodie Awards. There was a press event, and Caroline had squealed when she cracked open the invitation (“Look Max, it’s engraved! I bet nobody even had to wipe mustard off of a keyboard to print this!”) and even Max had been excited, in that shy, disarmed way that meant she was well and truly psyched. So when Caroline had announced that she was going to Barneys, and Max had looked at the ground and asked if she could come too, Caroline had broken into a huge grin and told her _of course_ (she’d even resisted breaking out into singsong optimism that might risk chasing Max away. 

So now they’re at the department store, and Caroline is waiting for a room, and Max is actually _in_ a change room, and Caroline is looking at her nails and wondering if she can pull off seafoam  when she hears a half hesitant squeak of “Caroline?!” coming from behind the change room door.

“Max?” Caroline rushes to the change room door in a rustle of blonde hair and clicking pearls. She knocks gently on the door and puts her face close to it. “Max, are you okay in there?”

“Uh.” There’s a shuffling sound, like Max is jumping up and down on the other side of the door, and then a loud thump. “I think I need your help with this.”

“Are you okay?” Caroline asks (shrill edge of panic) “Should I worry? Are you hurt? Max, if you’re okay, let me know, okay? 

“I’m trying!” comes Max’s voice. “Jesus, let me get a word in edgewise. Just… come inside.”

“Seriously?”

“Yes, I’m serious! Get in here, Caroline!”

Caroline opens the door with a snick and slides inside. “What is it Max—woah.”

Max looks amazing. Well, she always looks amazing. And it’s not like Caroline has never seen Max dressed to the nines, but the evening dress she has on right now is truly spectacular. Deep red (the same shade as her lips, Caroline notices) contrasts with Max’s creamy skin and falls in gentle ripples to the floor. It’s nipped in at the waist, accentuating the brunette’s generous curves, and strapless, laying Max’s throat and shoulders bare. Except—-

“Max, I know you like to put your best assets forward, but I can’t get a good read on your look when you’re clutching your breasts like that,” Caroline says pragmatically.

“This is purely functional!” Max hisses. “Who do you think I am, Janet Jackson on the cover of Rolling Stone? I need you to zip me up. I can’t get it up, and the top keeps falling down.”

“Okay, okay, turn around,” says Caroline. “I helped organize out on campus fashion show at Wharton. I can do this.”

Caroline doesn’t hear what Max mutters when she twirls, still clutching her dress into place, but she can’t imagine that it’s friendly.

“Wow, this zipper is really stuck,” Caroline comments after a few minutes of unsuccessful tugging.

“Thanks for the Google alert!” Max snaps.

“No, I’m serious, Max,” says Caroline, as she continues to pull. “I think you might be too big.”

“I’m going to tell what my prom date said when I told him the same thing,” says Max. “One, thank you, and two, with a little Crisco and enough determination, there’s nothing I can’t squeeze these puppies into.”

“I don’t think Barneys accepts returns smeared in kitchen grease,” Caroline volleys back.

Max smirks. “Their loss. Now _pull_.”

Max braces her hands against the wall to give Caroline a better angle for maximum leverage and Caroline pulls with all her strength. And for one, shining moment, it almost looks like this might work—- Caroline is groaning with nervous effort, the cold metal of the zipper is biting painfully into her fingers, but she can feel it rising, torturous inch by eighth of an inch—-

And then, to her utter horror, there is a _ripping sound_ and the zipper tears out completely, a jagged spool of metal and thread held unanchored in Caroline’s hand.

In the multi angled mirrors, Caroline can see Max’s mouth drop open in undisguised shock, see her own eyes widen with the terror of what she has just done.

“Max,” Caroline squeaks. “That was a six hundred dollar dress.”

Max’s expression in the mirror intensifies. “Six hundred dollars for a dress?” she asks, shocked. “Does it blow you at the after party?”

“It’s couture, Max, you pay for the name attached.” 

“I’ll pay for your name attached,” Max mutters, and then she lets go of the bodice of the ruined dress (until now, still clutched to her chest.) It falls around her waist, ruined, and her breasts swing free 

“Max…” Caroline murmurs when Max steps towards her.

“Hey, hey, relax,” says Max. “You know all about the names and the things and the stores—-I know all the tricks to getting us out of here fast enough that _nobody_ will be paying attention to what merch we destroyed. Just follow my lead.”

 Max hooks her fingers around Caroline’s slender neck, tugs her head down, and kisses her, the taste of her lipstick familiar and sweet. Caroline responds in an instant—-and how can she not, when that glorious chest is pressed up against her and Max is tickling the seam of her lips with the tip of her tongue. Caroline’s mouth opens and she kisses Max back, hands sliding over her naked back and the bumps of her spine. She’s playing with ruined fabric, pushing it over the swell of Max’s hips, when she comes to her senses and breaks their kiss.

 “Max, I don’t see how this will help anything,” Caroline says. She sounds breathless. Half convinced. “We’re just going to get into more trouble.”

 Instead of arguing, Max kisses Caroline’s collarbone. “Just shut up, nut up, and touch me,” she demands, and rubs herself against Caroline’s slender frame.

It’s a hard order to ignore. Caroline’s head dips and she kisses Max again, rougher with her tongue, shoving at Max’s skirts until they pool on the floor. “So what, your plan is to fuck our way out of here?” she breathes against Max’s lips.

She _feels_  Max’s smile, wide and salacious. “If you’re up to the challenge.”

In reply, Caroline twists Max around and pushes her against the mirror, presses up close until Max’s cheek is pressed against cool glass and her ass is flush against Caroline’s thighs. “I’m up to any challenge,” she says primly. “I’m very goal oriented.”

Caroline’s fingers slide into Max’s black cotton panties, and her free arm wraps around Max so that she can cup her breast, and when Caroline rubs the slick nub of Max’s clit, Max sighs and bucks against her. Caroline pinches Max's nipple and her fingers move faster, until Max is huffing breathy sighs that break off into whines when Caroline grazes her earlobe with her teeth.

"Come on," Caroline goads, fingers coated with slick, tiny sounds of sloppy wet skin bouncing from mirror to mirror as she fucks Max until her eyes flutter close and her mouth hangs open and the room smells cloudy like sex. Max whimpers, and Caroline growls against her ear. "Come on," she says again. "You said we needed to make a scene. You can do better than that!"

Caroline lets go of Max's tits so that she can reach around and smack her on the ass, hard enough that it echoes, and slides two fingers inside Max. Max bites her lips on the dirty groan that escapes, but then Caroline spanks her again, and the noise she lets out is loud and wrecked. Caroline's fingers inside Max thrust faster, thumb circling her clit, and soon Max isn't even bothering to try and hide her moans: she's choking on them, whimpering, sighing Caroline's name and banging her fists against the mirrored wall. Letting Caroline know that she's so good, she's amazing, and that she's close, she's close enough to-- she's just about to--

" _What on earth is going on in here_?"'

The voice is icy and furious and cuts through to Max and Caroline both; they spring apart like guilty children, Max scrambling for her bra, Caroline blushing crimson and staring at the floor. The Barney's sales rep stands before them. Her lips are pressed in a tight line, and her arms are braced against the open door-- doubtless, to hide this scene of public debauchery and disgrace.

"If you don't leave _right now--"_ rage makes her voice shrill and terse "--I'm calling security. If I see either of you again, I'm calling the police."

"We were just leaving," Caroline squeaks.

Max has most of her clothes on now. She leads Caroline by the arm, grinning, stumbling away, calling out something about the great lighting as they flee. Caroline doesn't hear; she's too busy convulsing into a fit of giggles, delight at their audacity and their recklessness and their success.

Two years ago she was the girl in Barney's who actually paid, who would quickly avert her eyes from the broke lesbians who got caught fucking in a dressing room stall. But today she is giddy, running down city streets and feeling like she's flying, letting Max pull her into an alley and finger here then and there, murmuring, "I knew it would work, I told you it would work," between kisses until Caroline is coming, breathless and laughing, tawdry ambience of Manhattan tourists snapping pictures scant yards away.

And that makes this a good day.


End file.
